


Flying Point (or Breaking Point)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Contracts, Detroit Red Wings, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel and Mike worry about Pav's ankle and the future of the Red Wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Point (or Breaking Point)

“How is your ankle, Pav?” Mike gestured at the icepack encircling the injury Pavel has aggravated during the game against the Capitals. 

“One-hundred-and-twenty percent because swelling.” Pavel, sprawled on a gunnery in the medical room, offered a shrug as doleful as a puppy begging for bacon strips. “Bigger not always better. Who knew?” 

Thinking about how easily Pavel’s body broke and bruised now—shoulder, knee, ankle, and everywhere—since even with the Magic Man, who couldn’t cast a spell on himself to combat all the effects of aging, there reached a shatter point where the soul was willing but the flesh was weak—Mike declared in a voice as rough as asphalt, “I’m starting to think for games that we should dress you from top to toe in bubble wrap.” 

“Want suffocate me?” Pavel’s dark eyes widened with a borderline comical indignation. 

“All right.” By way of concession, Mike tapped Pavel on the shoulder. “Just from shoulder to toe then.” 

“Interfere with dangling.” Dismissing this notion, Pavel shook his head as if to dislodge a pesky mosquito buzzing around his ear. “No.” 

“We’re stuck where we were then.” Mike spun on his heels and strode toward the door. “Take care of yourself, Pav.” 

At the threshold, Pavel’s quiet command halted him. “Don’t leave, Coach.” 

“You need something?” Mike figured that Pavel would ask for something practical like a heat pad, a soda, a snack, or even a magazine, so he was nonplussed by what left Pavel’s lips next. 

“Don’t leave, Coach,” repeated Pavel, his earnest intonation rendering the words more of a plea than an order. 

“The room?” Feeling as if he were missing missing a vital pice of the puzzle, Mike waved an arm at the space surrounding them. 

“No.” Pavel’s gaze locked on Mike’s like a north pole of a magnet attaching to the south pole of a second. “Don’t leave Red Wings.” 

“That’s not up for discussion.” Mike did all he could to make his manner more frigid than the icepack around Pavel’s ankle, because he would be damned before he let his contract be a topic of debate or distraction with his athletes. “It’s none of your business.” 

“You say it none of your business if I bolt to Russia like Kovalchuk?” Pavel’s chin lifted. “Doubt it.” 

“You’re under contract beyond this season.” Mike folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not. There’s a difference.” 

“I made flying point.” Pavel jerked his palm over his head. “Whoosh. Right over your head, but you get this. You important part of team. Team needs you to succeed.” 

“The Red Wings would find a way to survive without me.” Mike jaw clenched like an oyster shell. “Just the way they did without Stevie and Nick.” 

“Nick left hole in blue line Kronner can’t fill.” Pavel removed his icepack to give his skin a respite from the unrelenting cold. “Stevie only left when he sure Z and I ready to carry load so team don’t fall. Gus and Tats have to be ready when Z and I go, but Z’s back breaking from carrying team so much, and I—“ 

Trailing off as he apparently failed to locate the English in his memory banks to define his own condition, Pavel gestured mutely at his lower body, which seemed determined to devise a new method by which to betray him every month. Not that Pavel really required words to explain. It was obvious to anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together to create a spark that neither of the Euro Twins had the power to turn back time and that while both of them were elite players when healthy, the games that they were injured would inevitably climb every season. The transcendent moments would grow farther and farther apart until they finally faded into the void of retirement. 

“Gus and Tats will be fine as long as they think they’ll be.” Mike wasn’t certain whether he intended to be more gruff or reassuring. “They’ve just got to stop trying to hide in yours and Hank’s shadows. They have to begin doing everything for themselves, instead of depending on you two to do it. Then they’ll be stars. They just need space to spread their wings and learn how to fly.”


End file.
